


.iUiflr I Ntoo ( 

.■Willi niuww ,, Witrs an«l .« you 

want will ho AMES' PUBLISHING CO., Clyde, Ohio- 



AMES' SERIES OF 

ANDARD AND MINOR DRAMA, 

No. 335. j 

Miller's * Daughter. 

{DEAMA.) 



WITH CAST OF CHARACTERS, ENTRANCES AND EXITS. 

ELATIVE 1'osiTKiXS OF THE PERFORMERS ON THE S 

DESCRIPTION OK VXD TDK WHOLE OF THE 

STACK BUSINESS; CAREFULLY MARKED FROM 

THE MOST APPROVED ACTING COPY. 



PRICE 25 CENTS. 



CLYDE, OHIO : 

AMES' PUBLISHING CO, 



j*J 



$2£ No goods sent CO. D. Money MUST accompany all orders. 



r 



ALPHABETICAL LIST DF 

Ames' Edition nf Plays. 

•♦« svS&f ■♦■ 

FIFTEEN CENTS EACH UNLESS OTHERWISE MARKED. 



^ 



294 
2 
164 
39 
43 
100 
125 
89 
113 
226 
14 
321 
272 
160 
268 
310 
161 
60 
152 
279 
173 
143 
162 
255 
300 

311 
283 
117 
52 
76 
141 
26 
191 
194 

3 

9 

261 

46 

227 

211 

251 

163 

91 

36 

34 

229 

298 

223 

SI 

85 

83 

196 

'29 

2"8 

301 

IK 

'280 



M. F. 

DRAMAS. 

Arthur Eustace, 26c 10 4 

A Desperate Game 3 2 

After Ten Years 7 5 

A Life's Revenge 7 5 

Arrahde Baugh 7 5 

Aurora Floyd 7 2 

Auld Robin Gray 25c 13 8 

Beauty of Lyons 11 2 

Bill Detr'.^k 7 3 

Brae, the Poor House Girl.... 4 4 

Brigands of Calabria 6 1 

Broken Links 8 4 

Beyond Pardon 7 5 

Conn; or, Love's Victory 11 3 

Clearing the Mists 5 3 

Claim Ninety-Six (96) 25c 8 5 

Dora 5 2 

Driven to the Wall 10 3 

Driven from Home 7 4 

Dutch Jake 4 3 

EastLynne 8 7 

Emigrant's Daughter 8 3 

Fielding Manor... 9 6 

Gertie's Vindication 3 3 

Grandmother Hildebrand's 

Legacy, 25c 5 4 

Gyp, Tne Heiress, 25c 5 4 

HauDted by a Shadow 8 2 

Hal Hazard, 25c 10 3 

Henry Granden 11 8 

How He Did It 3 2 

Hidden Treasures 4 2 

Hunter of the Alps 9 4 

Hidden Hand 15 7 

Lights and Shadows ot the 

Great Rebellion, 25c 10 5 

Lady of Lyons 12 5 

Lady Audley's Secret 6 4 

Lost in London 6 4 

Man and Wife 12 7 

Maud's Peril 5 3 

Midnight Mistake 6 2 

Millie, the Quadroon 5 6 

Miriam's Crime 5 2 

Michael Erie 8 3 

Miller of Derwent Water 5 2 

Mistletoe Bough 7 3 

Mountebanks (The) 6 2 

New York Book Agent 7 3 

Old Honesty 5 2 

Old Phil's Birthday 5 3 

Outcast's Wife. 12 3 

Out on the World 5 4 

Oath Bound 6 2 

Painter of Ghent' 5 3 

Penn Hapgond 10 3 

Pelegand Peter. 25c 4 2 

Poacher's Doom 8 3 

Pheelim O'Rookes' Curse 8 3 



NO. M. F. 

5 Phyllis, the Beggar Girl 6 3 

110 Reverses 12 6 

45 Rock Allen 5 3 

79 Spy of Atlanta, 25c 14 3 

275 Simple Silas" 6 3 

266 Sweetbrier 11 5 

144 Thekla 9 4 

318 The Adventuress 8 6 

284 The Commercial Drummer.... 6 2 

242 The Dutch Recruit 25c 14 3 

67 The False Friend 6 1 

97 The Fatal Blow 7 1 

119 The Forty-Niners 10 4 

304 The General Manager 5 5 

93 The Gentleman in Black 9 4 

314 The Haunted Alill 5 4 

112 The New Magdalen 8 3 

322 The Raw Remit 6 

71 The Reward of Crime 5 3 

306 The Three Hats 4 3 

105 Through Snow and Sunshine 6 4 

201 Ticket of Leave Man 9 3 

293 Tom Blossom 9 4 

193 Toodles 7 2 

277 The Musical Captain 15 2 

200 Uncle Tom's Cabin 15 7 

2P0 Wild Mab 6 2 

121 Will-o'-the-Wisp 9 4 

41 Won at Last 7 3 

192 Zion 7 4 

TEMPERANCE PLAYS. 

*73 At Last 7 1 

75 Adrift 5 4 

187 Aunt Dinah's Pledge 6 3 

254 Dot: the Miner's Daughter... 9 5 

202 Drunkard [The] 13 5 

185 Drunkar I 's Warning 6 3 

189 Drunkard's Doom 15 5 

IS I Fifteen Years of a Drunk- 
ard's Life 13 4 

183 Fruits of the Wine Cup 6 3 

104 Lost 2 

146 Our Awful Aunt 4 4 

53 Out in the Streets 6 4 

51 Rescued 5 3 

59 Saved 2 3 

102 Turn of the Tide 7 4 

'••> Three Glasses a Day 4 2 

62 Ten Nights in a Bar-Room... 7 3 

58 Wrecked 9 3 

COMEDIES. 

324 A D*y In A Doctor's Office... 5 1 

168 A Pleasure Trip 7 3 

136 A Le^'al Holiday * 3 

124 An Afflicted Family 7 5 

257 taught in the Act 7 3 

248 Captured fi 4 

178 Caste 



& 



The Miller's Daughter; 



-OR,- 



Bound in Honor. 



A DRAMA 

IN FOUR ACTS- 

— BY — 

H. Jay Bibbs. 



TO WHICH IS ADDED 

lA DESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUMES-CAST OF THE CHARACTERS-- 

ENTRANCES AND EXITS— RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE 

PERFORMERS ON THE STAGE, AND THE WHOLE 

OF THE STAGE BUSINESS. 

if 

Entered according to the act of Congress in the year 1894, by 

AMES' PUBLISHING CO., 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 

CLYDE, OHIO. 

AMES* PUBLISHING CO. j ' 9 







TEE MILLERS DAUGHTER. 9 a}\ 
CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

£astl Lawrence, 1 An Aristocrat. 

Lord Harrington, J 

John Derwent Miller. 

Squire Thornton 

Lord Hyde 

Dickey Brown.. 

Humped Tom 

Black Joe 

Mountain Mag 

Countess Harrington 

Mrs. Derwent 

Lady Isabel Hyde 

Beauty Lynne 

MiIkCerani,} Tl ' e *•*'• Datt9J,t r 

Can be double I to play with five male, four female characters. 

fiSS&IS? 1 '} D " Ma 

feSSS? } a-** 

Mountain Mag. 1 n n „hJ*J 

Lady Isabel Hyde,/ DouhM 

TIME OF PLAYING -2 HOURS. 

SYNOPSIS OF EVENTS. 

ACT I. —The Miller's Cottage— A mo-teaged Home— "Elsie must marry Q qu : e 
thorn ton and save our home" — Mrs. D^rwent's doubts — Beautv and D ckev— "I » qi t 
bet gaed"— Flirtetion o the heart— 'A bnshrl and a pec't and a hug around the 
re^k"— Basil Lawrence and Elsie— The secret marriaere — "My storv is toH in the 
falling water ^f the o d mill streW— B auty and Basil— The wager— "Are y u 
nasty n'c ?" — Dickey's niotuie and the choeo ate drons — The telegram— "Beautv. 1> 
a. riend to Elsie— Beauty and the Squire— Dickey interferes— Elsie refuses to mar y 
Squire Thornton— Driven f o n home, with a f ather's curse. 

ACT II.— The mountain Witch— Squire Thornton secures her assistance— Basis 
.■>nd h ; s mother, Countess Harrington — The d mand — "I am married" — "A mi ler'g 
daughter"— A mother's resolve— "You are a, minor, the marriage is i legal"— The 
lailroad accident, in which Basilic injured— Dickey's letter — att mpted ab uction of 
Elsie— Beauty on han •— Rescue of Elsie— "Die you villain"— Death of Squire Thon - 
ton — "Oh heaven! he died with a lie on his lips " 

ACT III.— Home of Countess Harrington— The bell— Isabel and the Countess— 
"My one wish is that you become my son's wife" — Basil can't recall the past y.ar" — 
"'lis only a dream' —Elsie as Mile Cerani, attends the ball— Meets Basil— "My hus- 
band" — He tells her o^ his dream — The flower — Isabel and Mile — "You are an Adv n- 
tur ss"— "No, lam Basil Harrington's deserted wife"— Beauty and Dic'-ey— Lord 
Hyde proposes to Beauty — The old song, awikened memori:!!- — "Elsie, El-ie, my 
wife!"— Countess Harrington declares the marriage void— Despair of. Elsie— "I choose 
my wife, Elsie" — "Mother, I leave you forever ' 

ACT IV.— The Miller's cottage— Beauty at home— Beauty tells Elsie's story t) her 
father — "I curse her"— The vengence of heaven— Return of Elsie— B auty and 
Dickey — The unex' ected caller— Dickey on his knees— Elsie and Basil — "My wife, 
our marriage was legal— Dickey pronoses— "Do I crowd?" — The curse revoked, and 
Elsie and Basil are now "Bound in Honor." 

COSTUMES. 

Basil.— Act 1 t; Business suit and hat. Act 2nd; Same, with overcoat, light 

mustach. Act 3d; Blac'.tdroSi suit, flower in button hole. Act 4th; Business 
suit. bat. 

John Derwent.— Common sui f . 

Dickey Brown.— Country boy's suit and hat. Act 3d; Dress suit. Act 4th; Busi- 
nss suit. 

Squire Thornton.— Business suit, b'ack mustache, silk hat. 

Lord Hyde. — Old man, white hair and whiskers, dress suit. 

Humped Tom and Black Joe.— Rough suit, slouch hat and black whiskey. 

Elsie.— Act 1; House d r ess. Act 2nd; Same with hat and coat. Act 3d; Han 1- 
some ball c istume. Act 4th; Traveling dress, hat and eb»+. 

Beauty.— Act 1st; Short dre<s aid am-on. Act .2nd; Same with Jmt and coat. 
A^t 3d; Ball costume. Act 4th; House dress. 

Countess.— Act 2nd ; Traveliag costume. A?t3l; Ball costume, 

Isabel.— Bi'l costmn >. 

Mrs. Derwent.— Common house dress. 

JMag.- Old dres , rei th wl, long white hair. 



TMP92-009278 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER : 



OK, 



Bound in Honor. 



ACT I. 

SCENE — Miller's cottage — Mr. and Mrs. Derwent discovered sitting 
at table, l. u. e. 

Mrs. Derwent. There! there! John, it's no use fretting about th? 
^1 mill. Things are in a bad shape I know, but there is surely some 
ot 'er wav to meet our indebtedness beside this. 

John Derwent. That's a woman's reasoning. I see no other way, 
except by contracting this rich marriage. Squire Thornton has 
cl'iie Elsie the honor to offer her his hand, promising to release the 
mortgage if she accepts, and I have assured him she will. Slu can 
not see us go forth from here miserable beggars. 

Mrs. D. It seems so like selling the child. John, you seem to 
forget marriages are made in heaven; it is not for us to choose a 
husband for Elsie. Let her do that, guided by her own love and 
instinct. 

M\ D. Love and instinct are not safe guides. Girls of Elsie's 
disposition, do not know their own hearts. They are attracted to 
the rirst handsome face they me a t, be he villain or honest man. 
Why do I see so little of the child lately? Some change seems t> 
have come over her. 

Mrs. D. I have not noticed it. But you must remember shs is 
now a woman grown. Husband, do not compel her to wed the 
Squire against her will, for I know her pure young heart revolts at 
the idea. Kather than bring sorrow into her life, I would beg from 
door to door. "(rises 

Mr. D. Easy said, wife, but not so easy done. 

Mrs. D. And if she refuses — 

Mr. D. She dare notrefuse, duty will teach her better. My word 
is given to the Squire, I must and will keep the faith. 

Mrs. D. There is something about th it man, which I do not like* 
Are you sure he is strictly houest in his intentions? 



4 THE MILLEB'S DAUGBTEB. 

Mr. D. I have always found Squire Thornton an honest man. 
Do you remember the mortage on the mill fell clue one year ago, 
when 1 went to him, stated our e'rcumstances, he kindly gave me 
one year longer. 

Mrs. D. Yes, with 10% intere -\ ro :i date and security on our 
little home. Ye*, I remember well. 

Mr. D. Tut! tut! Elsie will redeem the mortgage. 

Mrs. D. And if she refuses — 

Mr. D. Then by heaven, she's no child of mine. {exit, L. E. 

Mrs. D. And he will keep his word. His iron will is not to be 
broken. (exit, l. e. 

Enter, Beauty and Dickey, r., 1 e. — Beauty singing. 

Beauty. I won't be tagged. If there is one thing I hate, it's a 
tagger. 

Dickey. I like that— who's a tagger? Didn't you whistle me out 
when you went past our house. You're never satisfied unle s you 
have a beau on the string. 

Beau. Ha! ha! All I have to do is to whistle and they come. 
Oh! they lead me such a life. Auntie says I'm too young— too 
young! well I guess I'm old enough to know, (dances and sings) 
Hey there! old blushes! what do you think of that V 

Dick. I don't blush. 

Beau. No! Oh no! you're as red as a boiled lobster now. Oh! 
Dickey, you're such a nuisance — you're not in it. 

Dick. Who is then? 1 don't want to be. 

Beau. You're too bashful. Get tough, be a sport, anything, and 
uiHV be I might get stuck on you. 

Dick. I'm going right home. I won't be talked to in that way, 
'it makes me feel bad. 

Beau. Baby ! baby ! come right hereto your mamma; scrooch up 
Teal close and I'll tell you something, (puts his arm around her 
waist) Oh! oh! see where you've got your arm? 

Dick. Oh! my, you put it there, didn't you? Now I am going 
home. 

Beau. Just put that right back there, I don't in the lea^t mind it. 
In fact I rather like it. Dicke}-, the man in the moon may be look- 
ing. 

Dick. He won't tell, (she tickles him) Don't do that, I've got 
heart disease. 

Beau. So have T, flirt ition of the heart. Oh! I've got it now. 
Look, catch me, I'm going to faint, inn — (business — he braces his 
back to her) Oh ! Diekey, that ain't the way. Say, Dick. 

(ivhispers 

Tick. Well. (song and dance introduced 

Beau. Look there Dickey, Mr. Lawrence and Miss Elsie are c fin- 
ing this way, arm in arm, that's the way — (puts his arm around hr.r 
waist— ditto both her's) Wouldn't the Squire feel jealous if he knew 
that? 

Dick. Say, I came up on him the other day, and I heard him sav, 
''This green eyed monster is devouring me. By heaven, 1 will have 
her." I didn't know what he meant. 

Burn, [do! Oh! for someone to say that about me, I'd marry 
the muu o ) the spot, Sup ose you do— now savit after me. Now— 

(business, very tragisa i 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 5 

Dick. But I ain't got no such a thing ailin' mo. 

Beau. No! you couldn't get up enough feeling. 

(comes hear him, he moves away 

Dick. Now j-ou stop. I nearly forgot — I must D3 going — I'm 
going fishinsr. 

Beau. Gee! that'll be jolly. I'm going along. 

Dick. No, I won't be tagged. 

(goes n<T to l. u. E. — she catches him 

Beau. Oh! but I am — wai' — (whisps 8 and one* before him) A 
bushel and a pock and a hug around the n u ck. Now I ain't tagging 
— 'ee hee, tra la lee — Say, Dickey, what do you 'spect we'll catch? 

Dick. A lickin' if my ma sees us. (exeunt, l. e. 

Enter, Basil and Elsie, r. k., singing "Allan Water." 

Basil. That is such a mournful song. 

Elsie. It is like life, first she was gay an 1 fair, then she loved, 
th-n she died. 

Basil. You do not think love ends in death ? 

Elsie. Death is the end of all thing*; it is the end of all lives. 

Basil. No, a thousand times no! Who could have believed that 
rou, so young, so bright and fair, could have such gloomy thoughts, 
such depth of sadness. 

Elsie. Am I sad? Basil, why must we live this secret life? 
Why may I not tell mother we are married? 

Basil. That you must not. You see Elsie, I am not of age, I 
Kha'l not be until September, and if my parent* had known, they 
have power to forbid the marriage. D me without their knowledge, 
they are of course powerless. When September come?, I shall take 
you to my mother and say, "This is my wife, take her to your 
iheart." 
. Elsie. I do not like it. 

Basil. But Elsie, it could int be. Where is your reason? If 
even your lather had known, he would have prevented it. Jn his 
slow honest mind, he would think such a marriage quit', wrong, and 
were I t) disclose to him that I'm an aristocrat, he would have talked 
about caste and all kinds of nonsense. We mus: keep the secret g 
little while longer. 

Elsie. Oh! Bisil, I love you far too well to bring trouble upon 
you. If I tried forever, I could not t li now much I Inv» you. 

Basil. Dear heart, I can hardly believe mv good lorcune. How 
did I win you? Whv Elsie, yon might be a Queen. 

Elsie. I do not think many Kings wou d come wooing me. 

Basil. You are one of nature's Queens, and with your face and 
voice, might be a Queen of song. 

Elsie. And you are my King. Basil, I was wondering if there 
was anything in our marrin e t lat could possibly nuke it illegal. 

Basil. No! you are my wife before G-o land man. Nothing shall 
take you from me. Here Elsie, is a copy of our marriage certificate, 
and here is the ring the Knights of our housj irive their fair brides 
in mar: 1^-, and no sweeter bride has ever worn it, than now owns 
it. (gives rim and marriage certificate 

Elsie. Basil, shall I seem very much out of place in your home 
and among your friends? 

Bisil. My darling, you would grace any home. Mine his had 
no lairer mistress in all the generations it has stoo i. 



> THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Elsie. I'm half frightened, it seems like such a long leap to take 
n life for only t a miller's daughter. Won't I wake up and find it 
ill a dream ? 

Basil. It is all true, mv wife ; I will remain as true as the stars in 
neaven. It would be easier for me to die, than be false to you. 

Elsie. This pretty ring, it remin Is me of that song : 

The vows were all forgotten, 
The ring asunder broke. 

I can hear it now. The winds are repeating it. 

Basil. It is only your fancv. 

Elsie. Basil, I had a terrible dream last night. I could not sleep 
for hours, when at last my eyes closed, I found myself by the 
"old mill stream ;" I thought I had been driven there by some pain 
too great for words. I flung mvself into the stream, and Oh Basil ! 
I felt myself drowning, I felt my body floating, then sinking. The 
water tilled my eyes, mv ears — I died. In my sleep, I went through 
all the pain of death ! But mv last thought was of you. I called for 
you, but you did not come. Oh ! Basil, do you think it will ever 
come true ? 

Basil. No Elsie, you think too much of thess things. 

Elsie. Perhaps I do, but it seems my story is told in the falling 
<water of the old mill stream. 

Basil. If the water tells of a bright life, all happiness with the 
most devoted and loving of husbands, then it may tell you as much 
as it likes. Let us bind our secret with the bonds of honor, dar 
ling. 

Enter, Mrs. Derwent, r. e. 

Mrs. D. Good morning, Mr. Lawrence. Elsie, your father 
wishes to speak with you. You will excuse her? (exit, r. e. 

Elsie. It means harm to us Basil, I'm sure it does. 

Basil. Nonsense darling, he ha* some little commission for you 
at the village. Don't stay a,ny longer than you can help. 

Elsie. I will return in half an hour. Oh ! Ba«il, if he has heard — 

Basil. He has not heard. Now go — I will think of you till you 
return. 

Elsie. I'm afraid, Basil. 

Basil. Elsie, put your arms around my neck. My darling wife 
I love you, and will be true till eternity, (kisses her) Now go — 

(exit, Elsie, r. e. 

Enter, Beauty, l. e., singing. 

Bemi. That was all a fake, that fishing trio. His mother called 
Aim in. You bet I'll get even with him yet for that — (se?s Basil) 
Good morning! good morning! (bows low) I hone 1 see you well. 

Basil. Yes. Miss Beaut}'. Let's see, you're the little maid they 
c-ill the romp? 

Beau. Yes, 'cause I have such a lolly good time. Folks call me 
bad, but I ain't, I'm just naughty. Sav, I wish I'd been born a boy, 
but I wasn't. Say, I can beat an}' one around here climbing trees. 
I can beat you up that one out there. 

B ;xil. No. that would be unlady like. 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 7 

foBeau. Oh! I know it, but it would be bushels of fun. You're 

o nice though. Say, you ain't nasty nice? 

Basil. Well, I've never been accused of it. Why? (laughs 

Beau. 'Cause I hate that kind of people. Say, you are sweet on 
Elsie, ain't you? Oh ! I know it by your corapiexion ! Well, what 
do you think of the rest of the family. I'm her cousin. Ha! ha! 
but I ain't half as nice looking;, and do you believe it, I steal— ye?, 
steal, I hooked some cookie-. " Say, you'd better watch out, Squire 
Thornton is awful spoons after her. 

Basil. I have heard he liked Miss Elsie, but that's not to be 
wondered at, we all love her. 

Beau, (aside) J knew I'd get it out of him. Oh! I'm an old 
pumper, (aloud) Like her! too weak a word. Say, I'm awful glad 
I met you this morning. You and Elsie's been painting pictures to- 
gether, and I've been doing it too. What do you think of it; that's 
Dickey, only lots better looking. (shows picture 

Enter, Dickey, r. e. 

(to Dickey) Say, what did you come here again to-day for? Do 
you mean business? If not, young man you'd better go. (aside) 
That's a good one ; gee, ain't he scared ? 

Dick. I came to borrow some matches. 

Beau. Matches! That's a fine story ! Why don't you make a 
match? I know what you've come for. You've come to hug and 
kiss me nearly to death, but you shan't unless you are the strongest, 
and I'm glad to say you are. 

Dick. I didn't come for that. I feel so shamed. 

Beau. No! well, I wish you had. You can go home now, I'm 
very busy entertaining Mr. Lawrence. 

Dick. I brought you something, but I ain't going to give it to 
yon now — chocolates. 

Beau. Give 'em to me— give 'em to me. 

Dick. Nope! am going to take them back home to our hired gir'. 

(turns to exit 

Beau. Old stingy Peter. Bah! bah! wouldn't eat your old 
jandy. 

Dick. Say, I guess you can have 'em. I don't like 'em very well, 
and our hired girl's gone. 

Beau. Oh! no thank you, I d^n'L care for them; vou better gc 
home — three's a crowd you know. (exit, Dickey, r. e. 

Enter, Messenger, r. e. 

Mes. A telegram, Mr. Lawrence. (exit, r. e. 

Basil, (reading — aside) What! mother here at the Rashleigh 
Arms? I wonder if she can have heard of our little love affair, and if 
she has — then I shall confess ail, brave her anger — it remains but 
three months until — 

Beau. G^od news, Mr. Lawrence ? 

Basil, ic ought to be, but to be honest, it is not. Beauty, if there 
should anything happen, you will be a true friend to Miss Elsie? 

Beau. That I will. I can stick lighter than mucillage — there 
comes the Squire — 

Basil. Then I will bid you good day. It would not be pleasant 
for us to meet. 



S THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Beau,, If I was vou, I\l stand up and show him I was best man. 
Basil. Like beasts. No! Will you tell Miss Elsie to remember 
our engagement at the mil. {exit, l. e. 

Enter, Squire, r. e. 

Squire. Ah! Miss Beauty, as fresh and rosy as a peach. There 
is nothing like youth, extreme youth, so pleasant to the eye, so 
palatable to the taste. Ha ! ha ! 

Beau, (aside) He don't taste this plec. There it goes again, 
"young," bah! if I only had a tew gray hairs, (aloud) Good 
morning, don't you feel well? 

Squire. Never fe t bet er, you vourself are equal to the elixir of 
youth to make a man feel he were young again. By George girl, I 
didn't know you were so pretty. 

Beau. Oh I didn't you! yes, [ am pretty; the prettiest girl in the 
village. Oh! I know it. I'm awful young and shy, but loo old a 
bird to be caught by chaff. 

Squire. Pon honor! ray dear I never fta'ter, I leave that to 
younger heals than m'ne. Now confess you little battery, you 
never feel so good as when some one i> pouring fla tery in your ear. 
It's the way of all pretty children. They all like it. 

Beau. Say, you tire me out. Because you expect to get Elsie, is 
r,o reason why you should soft soap the relation. I don't want your 
horrid old compliments. 

Enter, Dickey, r. e., unseen. 

Squire. How fortunate we are alone. Now you little battery, 
you shall kiss me. (business — Beauty screams and kick* 

Dick. No! she don't. I'm here to protect her. 

Squire. What right sir! have you to interlere? 

Dick. The right of an honest man, and that Squire Thornton you 
are not! 

Beau. That you ! So glad you've come, Dickey. Carry me oat, 
I can't breathe the same air with that man, he is too vile. 

(exit, Dickey and Beauty, r. e. 

Squire. Drat that brat! However there is no time to fool wicli 
such small game, when there is better to be had, it my cards work 
well. I have brought the mortgage papers, and to-day seals the fate 
of the occupants of this little cottige. I have no fear of the answer, 
they will all sell themselves for gold, every one of them. 

Enter, Mr. and Mrs. Derwent, and Elsie, l. b. 

Mr. D. Our duty. Squire! 

Squire. Glad.to see you looking well. That little business of ours 
must be settled to-day. I shall wait no longer, 1 have brought the 
papers and am ready to fulfill my part of the contract. 

Mr. D. And I produce the child that she may speak for herself. 

Squire. That answer is — 

Elsie. No! no! father forgive me. I cannot. Oh! I can not! 

Squire. Curse her! What does this mean? Girl, do you know 
the consequences, your parents will be beggars. 

Elsie. Aye, I know it well. Mercy, I can not ask, for I fe 1 that 
you have none. 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. » 

Mr. D. What means this? Speak child, I command you tospeak. 

Elsie. I dare nor, I care not, I am bound in honor. 

Mr. D. You refuse — 

Elsie. Yes. 

Mr. D. Then you cease to be a child of mine. Wife, bring me 
the Bible, (business) Listen ! Elsie Derwent, born Aug. 10th, died 
May 22nd. Now sjo, and mav the curse ot a heart broken father to 
a disobedient child fo'low you. 

Elsie. No, no! father. I'll go, but t»kc back the curse, take it 
back. (Mrs. Dkhwent goes toward Elsie 

Mr. D. Stan 1 back; don't touch her. 

Mrs. D. You'll forgive her, you must John. 

Mr. D. I forgive her! No, never while sun and moon shine. I 
shut my heart against her forever, it will hold her no more, and you 
must cast her out of your heart as I do. [forbid you to s;>eak tc 
her, to go near her. If you meet her, turn away your head. 

Enter, Beauty, r. e., whip in her hand. 

Mrs. D. Mv only child, how cm I do it? 

Mr. D. Then choose between her nnd me. We have been hus- 
band and wife for twenty years. We've never quarreled in all that 
time, and will you allow her, who is false to us both, to separate us? 

Mrs. D. No John ! you against all the world, thougu it break 
my heart. 

Mr. D. We are childless now — you and I. (business — to Elsie) 
W >j don't you go? 

Elsie. Heaven ! this is hard to bear. Have I no friend left? 

Betu. Y"es, I don't ask an explana ion, but wherever you go, I'll 
go vvirh you. I believe you a true, ho est woman. This is some 
more of your devilish work, Squire Thornton. I can find no words 
lhat could describe how 1 loathe you — (Squire moves toward her) 
Stand back, come one step nearer and you will feel the stinj; of this 
whip. 

Squire. Curse von— von little devil. 

Bean. Old satan ! Don't you feel good now? Come Elsie — 

Elsie, (business) Father! mother! won't you siy good-bye? 

Mr. D. No! I have nothing to say to you. Why do you linger? 
Why don't you go? I've seen enough of your treacherous facet 
Go ! go ! and take my curse as a legacy, it is all I have to leave you. 
Now go — I say go! 

Business— Elsie and Beauty turn L. — Mr. Derwent holds his wife 

on his arm, as he motions Elsie to go. 

CURTAIN. 

END OF ACT I. 



ACT II. 

SCENE. — Mountain Mag's cabin in the Mountain. 

Enter, Squire, r. e. 

Squire. At last the game has been played into my* hands. Little 
Fou thought fair Elsie, that I should receive the little missive in- 
tended for Basil Lawrence. But monev and influence will conau.-r 



10 THE MILL EM'S DAUGHTER. 

where simple reason fails. Ha! ha! Let's see. "Dear Basil: I 
have been driven from home and am now an outcast. They tried to 
compel me to wed the Squire and I refused. But the secret that I 
am your wife has not been divulged. 'Tis safe ! Basil, you bound 
me in honor not to reveal it, and the heavens will fall before I break 
the oath. 1 pass over the mountains to-night toward Kashleigh. 
May heaven protect me. Your wife, Elsie." So that's the little 
secret which kept us apart. Basil Lawrence how I hate you ! I 
have set my heait on posses-ing that girl, and by heaven, she shall 
yet be mine, by fair means of foul. I have it. Mountain Mag must 
set her human hounds at work to-night, when she passes over the 
mountain. She dare not refuse, 1 know of some dark deeds that 
might be traced to her door. I wonder if she is in her den. 

(goes to cabin door and knocks 

Mag. Who's there? 

Squire. One, who is on a little matter of business. 

Enter, Mountain Mag, l. e. 

Mag. Ah ! it's the pretty Squire, the gude kind Squire, and what 
do ye want a botherin a decent ou Id woman this mornin'. Yes! 
yes! it's yer fortune towld ye want. Ah! I see gude luck fer ye. 
Here's a line crosses — hum ! hum ! ye don't prosper wid the lady of 
yer choice, but naver mind, she will yet be yours. There's a light 
haired — 

Squire. Bother your harangue. Go to the silly fools of the 
village with that trash. I've a bigger game on hand Mag, and there's 
gold in it! (business 

Mag. Gold ! ha ! ha ! Would ye have me stain me hands for gold. 
Ha! ha! ha! Oh! I love gold, bright yellow gleaming gold. 

Squire. Come, come Mag, you're not growing babyish. Ye used 
to do a nice neat job, and none ever lived to confront you. The Lord 
of Charldon — 

Mag. Hold, Squire Thornton, what do ye know? 

Squire. Oh! nothing! nothing! Where did you bury him? 

Mag. He lays in yonder pool along side of t le girl I killed for ye. 
Do ye remember that dark night? 

Squire. Woman, won't you ever forget not to mention that in my 
presence. I forbid it, 1 say I lorbit it. 

Mag. In course I won't, if ye don't like it; but the job, how much 
gold ? Ha ha ! ha ! 

Squire. One hundred pounds if you kidnap the Miller's daughter 
as she passes over these mountains to-night. Do you consent? 

Mag. In course I do. One hundred pound of gold. Ha! ha! I'll 
kill her for two-hundred, what do ye say? 

Squire. No devil! your hands have already made you thrice a 
murdress. How many crimes do you want to answer for? 

Mag. As miny as the likes of ye'd give me gold lor. (business — 
(Squire goes towards her) There, there Squire, ye'd better notstroike 
me, the by's might be a bit troublesome. 

Squire/ Fool! What proof can you give, you will not prove a 
traitoress ? 

Mag. A thief's word of honor. Are ye satisfied? 

Squire. I must be. Now, I'll give you fifty down and the other 
fifty when I see your fair prisoner. That's fair enough! (gives 
money) Is that correct? 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. ** 

Mag. Yis! but ye'd better no forgit the otlier titty. If ye do, I'll 
get even. I always do. Ha! ha! 

Squire. I'll not forger it. To-night set your human hounds fat 
work. Black Joe ami Humped Tom are the most reliable. Are 
they here ? 

Mag. Thira by's allays be ridy for a nice clane job like this. 
Hadn't ye bitter give us a shillin ler a drop of the crature, to brace 
one up. 

Squire. There take it. (gives money) Now mind, do not hurt the 
girl. 

Mag. Don't ye fear, the pay ain't big enough. In co'rse we'll be 
rale gintle. Jf tint's all, ye'd better be going, the stage coach be a 
« omin' up thar. Gude bye me honey. I'll do the job and git the 
yellow gold. Ha! ha! "it's no cari'n how it comes, so I git it. Ha! 
ha ! (exit, l. e. 

Squire. That hag would sell her soul for gold. How well she 
would like to trade on my secret. But she dare not do it. I did not 
kill that girl,. she was growing troublesome and— well, she disap- 
peared. Ha! ha! The stage coach ! I must not be seen. I'll con- 
Ueal myself until it passes. 

Enter, Basil and Countess, r. e. 

Basil. Mother! why did you not send for me? 

Countess. There was not time, besides we did not know exactly 
wl ere you were, at Lord Harry's or Blounts. 

Basil. Father dead; I can scarcely realize he is gone. 

Conn. Yes, and you are now Lord Harrington. You wonder 
why I've come here? I came to tell you a story. I prefer you 
'should hear it from my lips. It is a short one. "When your father 
succeeded to the title and estates, there was not much leftfto keep up 
the grand old name. You have heard it often said, the last Earl ot 
Harrington was a spendthrift and a gambler, and it was always my 
impression that your lather would fodow iu his footsteps. Until late 
years my influence kept him trom it. But even that I am not too 
proud to confess, lo-t it's strength. He went from bad to worse, 
and when there was no ready money to be derived trom the estate, 
he borrowed. His chief creditor is old Lord Hyde, himself a 
gambler. However a successful one. Just one week ago to-day 
he was present at the death-bed of your father, and promised 
that if an alliance were made between you and his daughter, her 
dower should be amply sufficient to onee more raise the house of 
Harrington, second to none in England. To protect the honor ot 
our house, you must consent to this alliance. 

Basil.. Honor! Mother! Can a man under such a guise as you 
hold out to me, be justified in consenting? Why, I've never seen 
the girl. It is unjust to her and unfair to bind me so. No! 

Coun. The whole honor, fortune and glory of our house now rests 
on your shoulders. It depends on you whether one of the mosc 
noble families falls into obscurity, or once more finds a place in k's 
foremost ranks. 

Basil. I know it — I know it. 

Coun. And you are prepared to meet the responsibility? 

Basil. No! no! mother. Oh! vvhy did you make such plans? I 
can not meet them; I should have told j-ou before. 

Coun. There is no other attachment? 



12 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Basil. Yes, the strongest. I am married. 

Coun. Married ! I will not believe it. It is not true. 
Basil. Yes, I should have made it known belore. (shows certifi- 
cate) There! is that not true enough? 

Coun. Anything rather than this. You have spoiled your life. 
Oli! my son! Tell me you have married an aristocrat. Our house 
has never made a messilliance, they liave always chosen wives from, 
their own class; you have done the same? 

Basil. My wife is a ladv in as much as she is the gentlest of 
women, but she is not by birth, and her face is her only fortune. 

Coun. Then why did you marry her? 

Basil. Because t loved her. 

Coun. 1 thought as much. I am sorry my son is sentimental. 
Now tell me the facts and spare me the love. 

Basil. Mother, don't be so hard, so cruel. O'i ! what will you 
say, when you learn that I have married a "miller's daughter." 

Coun. A "miller's daughter!" A splendid alliance ! The last of 
the Harringtons and a miller's daughter! Have you lost your 
brains or your senses? 

Basil. Nei her, only my heart. 

Coun. Then this is the end of such foolishness — {tears certificate) 
Tour marriage is illegal and invalid in the eyes of the law. Se: it 
aside. 

Basil. I would not do such a base dishonorable deed to save nv 
life. Our marriage is sacred and valid enough iti the sight of 
heaven. 

Coun. This contest is useless. I ho'd the power and E intend to 
use it. The law gives me control over you until you are of a e. 

Basil. Then as soon as the three months are gone, I shall make 
all possible haste to marry Elsie. 

Coun. Basil, I want you to make me a promise, come home with 
me for three months, and let this wretched marriage rem.ii.i a 
secret for thnt time. Come, promise your mother ! 

Basil. When 1 have told my wife. 

Coun. No, come now — you can write to her. Will you — 

Basil. Yes mother. I'll come and promise to keep the secret, on 
the faith of a gentleman. 

Coun. (aside) A three months time. May heaven do something 
to interfere in that time. If not, I shall follow out the wonting of 
my idea. 

Basil. Come mother, if we expect to catch the London Express, 
we must hurry. (exit, l. k. 

Squire, (coming down stage) Illegal ! so much easier the job. 
Ah ! she shall yet call me Lord and Master. Then won't I pay back 
all these scowls. Ha! ha! 

Enter, Mag, l. e. 

Mag, you old wretch, you have heard it all. 

Mag. Didn't I tell ye, thar was a fair haired man who crossed yer 
path. Why don't ye kill him? I'd do it. 

Squire. You are my evil genius. No! you will be silent about 
this story. Don't you dare tell the girl. 

Mag. "Old Mag niver tells tales, it's not in the business. 

Squire. You know it's growing late; 1 must not be seen in the 
village. Can you offer m; shelter? 



THE MILLER'S D AUG LITER. IS 

Mag. It's a poor one, but ye are welcome at me fireside. Coom 
In and we'll crack jokes together, talk over the old times. It's 
miny a fine story we both could tell. Coom in, coom in. 

Squire. Stop your harangue — L say stop. (exeunt, l. e. 

Enter, Beauty, r. k. 

Beau. I'll just so to our Post Office and see if Dickey's wrote that 
letter, (gets letter from under log) Yes, he's wrote it. Dickey does 
write the sweetest letters, he seals them with molasses candy, and 
I lick it off. Once he sealed it with shoemaker's wax and fooled 
me, but I got even, I put burrs in his pants pocket. Didn't he 
scratch! (laughs) Then I told him he'd got the itch and sent him 
home. I'm most forgetting mv letter. "Miss Beauty Lynne, es- 
teemed friend : I take my pen in hand to let you know that I have 
usked ma to go. She said no, but I'm going to run off. I'm goin^ 
to be tough — tougher than boarding house beef steak — tough enough 
10 travel with you. I have changed my pants and will sneak off and 
meet you this afternoon. 1 hive got an old pistol, three pies and » 
loaf of bread. 

The rose is red, the violets blue, 
Sugar is sweet and so are you." 

Ain't that sweet? "Your classmate in Sunday school, Dickey. 
He's a turnip. What in the world does Dickey want with those 
1'ies. Hum ! a pious crowd. Well, it's about time he was showing 
up, if he wants to meet me here. I ain't meeting him by moonlight 
alone. He'd be afraid ! 

Enter, Dickey, r. e. 

Dick. Say, why did'nt you tell me there was a cross bull in your 
ancle's field. 

Beau. Did be whoop you up? Where do you feel worst. 

Dick. I don't like to tell. 

Beau. Oh! you needn't care for me. Did he toss you by the seat 
,of vour trousers ? 

Dick. He did, he put me right over the fence. 

Beau. Another case of assension — your'e sa green, it's a wonder 
he didn't eat you. 

Dick. Well, it don't fe.l very good anyhow. Say, where are we 
going? 

Beau. To thunder, may be. Do you still want to go along? 

D ck. What have you got here? (he takes bundle 

Beau. Night gowns. (Dickey drops bundle) Baby, are you 
afraid of them. 

Dick. No, I'm not afraid; but I don't like them. 

Beau. Well, you can carry them. I was bound to have them, so 
I crawled in the window and got them. Suppose I'm going to give 
them up now, we've got to have 'em. 

Dick. Well, you can oarry them yourself. I've got those pies to 
look after. I put two of them in my hat, s> ma wouldn't see them. 

Beau. Looks like mitce pie now. Say Dickey, do you like me 
much? 

Dick. You bet! more than my dog Jack or — molasses candy. 

Beau, Then you carry this. 



U THE MILLER'S DAUGHTEH. 

Dick. Oh! no, you're soft-soaping me. 

Beau. We are only going to the Inn, then back again. Do carry 
them. 

Dick. Like to know why we got to go back again. 

Beau. The body guard is to protect the Queen when she walks 
to-night. If you're getting tired, you can go back to your ma. 

Dick. Ma be hanged— no I mean pa. I'll go if I loose my life, 
but I'm mo^t afraid to go back now. 

Beau. Say, you got your pistol? 

Dick. Yes, but i'm fraider with it. 

Beau. Be sure and don't turn the wrong end toward you, you 
might surprise your head. Come along here, grab that bundle. 

Dick. I won't do it. 

Beau. Then we part, part right here, same as if a cyclone had 
blown us apart, and next j r ears violets shall gem my early grave. 
Boo! hooT 

Dick. Say, stop j r our crying. I'll carry them, yes wear them, 
anything if you'll only stop. 

Beau. I wasn't crying a bit. (aside) I knew that would bring 
him around. 

Dick, (business with bundle) Say, was there a terrible row? 

Beau. I should say so. I wish you'd seen the Squire. O! but 
ne was wrathy, looked like a tiger. 

Dick. Why didn't you buck him? I bet he'll try to get even. 

Beau. Let him, I'm his match. 

Dick. What could you do, pooh ! 

Beau. I'm little, but my ! I'd just like to scratch his eyes out. 

Dick. Well, you needn't practice on me. Say, what if you and 
me would get lost— we'd be like the little bubes in the woods, 
wouldn't we? 

Beau. Oh! you needn't fear; I'll not get lost. I'd like to see 
anyone loose me. Do you know where we are? That's old Mag's 
cabin, the woman they call the mountain witch. They say she steals 
children. Arn't you afraid. 

Dick. Say, you go first, won't you. Let's get out of this, she 
might want our pies. I ain't afraid, but 1 don't want to loose my 
pies. 

Beau. Oh ! there she comes now. Stand up, be a man. 

(business 
Enter, Mag, l. e. 

Dick. I'm a standing, what '11 she do to us? Oh! good Mrs., we 
don't want nothin'. 

Mag. Ye pesterin brats, go long wid ye. 

Beau. We ain't brats, (aside) Even that old woman calls me a 
kid. (aloud) I'm a young lady. Dickey here ain't much, if you 
must hurt some one, hurt Dickey — steal him, I don't think any one 
would care. 

Dick. We are as go id a? dead — now I lay me — 

Mag. I say, go long wid ye — clear out — I hate the sight of yez, 
ye peeky faced brat, ye are one of tlum as throwed stones at me in 
the village. I know ve — I hate the sight of yez. 

Dick. Oh! no I didn't, good Mrs. I never throw stones. I'm a 
good Sunday school boy, and can show you every one of my tickets. 

Mag, Bad ce3s, them be the worst. I say clear ou t, or 4'll_wiiU> 



THE MILLER'S DAUGBTEB. ** 

pe both till ye can't walk. 
Beau. Gee! Dickey, guess she means it. Ask her. 
Dick. Do you mean it? 
Mag. Bah! git. 
Dick. Yes, she mean? it. 

Dick.'\ We S' lt - («*« 

Mag. Mav the devil git 'em. Well, they'd be in better hands 
than in old Mag's. I'll just go into the den and see if the by's be in. 
Business on hand to-night and I'll be after gettin' the byes an cxtr a 
dish— (exit, l. e. 

Enter, Joe and Tom, l. e., from cabin- 
Joe. Another job me pretty, but it's not the kind we loike. _ 
Tom. Thim be a coomin' in slow like now. It'* no like the jolly 

Jmes we used to have. I would a most do a killin' for nothing, 

just to see if me hand had lost it's cnnoln'. 
Joe. The Squire killed his last. He most be a growin' babyish to 

leave this one off. There be a power of fun in hoogin' a girl just a 

little too tight. Tom, don't ye think? 
Tom. Yes, I like to hear the gurgle. One gasp un it be all over. 

Ha! ha! 
Joe. (laughs) They niver get up to tell ther' tale- 
Tom. No, for I kill 'em deader nor door nails. 
Joe. Give us er light from yer pipe. Whe.e's the old Hag? 

Enter, Mag, u., 1 e., unseen. 

Tom. She be> bilin' calf head fer supper, we'll have a feast tc- 
/light. 

Joe. Give me a drop. How moch gold did she get ? 

Tom. One hundred pound, it's a glide price fer nothin'. 

Joe. That makes a thousand she's got by her now ; when sh get's 
a little more, we'll kill her. 

Tom. That we will pardner— that we will. Hist ! 

(Mag comes forward — stage dark 

Mag. Be ye ridy to do ther' job, bys ? 

Tom. We be ackin fer it. I wish it was a stranglin job, me fingers 
be a growin' stiff. 

Joe. And me knife hain't had blood on it fer a year. 

Mag. Niver mind me honeys, the day 'ill come— the day 'ill come. 
Now Tom, ye'r to grab the gal, while Joe slaps the shawl over her 
he'd. Do ye understand ? 

Tom. Yes, what if we'd happen to kill her? 

Mag. No! the Squires word was, he keerful. 

Tom. If we make a mistake, we'll throw her in the pool, eh ? 

Joe. Hist! ther"'5 some one comin'. 

Mag. It's the gul, ridy now. (business 

Enter, Elsie, b. e. 

Elsie. The night's so dark. Can heaven be sending the curse 
i.hatmy father called down upon my head? Everywhere I go, I 
seem to hear it— the winds— (Joe and Tom grasp her) What! 
Who* Help! Murder !_ 



16 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Tom. Aisy, me pnrty one; no, it's no murder. Though, if I had 
me say, ye'd not live to see ther flay. Thar Maff, she's quiet now. 

Joe. Ye did the job nice, Humpy. Where shall we take her, 
Maff? 

Mac/. Well, draff her fr> the .ien. 

Joe. Did the Squire say we were to lock her up? 

Mag. No, he'll be here to-night. There, bys. is yer part of the 
rold. It's a present don't spend it foolishly. It's not miny folks as 
would be so good to ycz. 

Tom. Yer a genuwine daisy M iff, and may yer live to bleed miny 
more victims. (drinks 

Joe. May yer live to go to yer own funeral. (drinks 

Mag. Yer brave lads. By's, we've held toffether through thick 
en thin, chared the same fire, ate the same brid, but old Mai er a 
gettin' old, she soon 'ill be don; 1 no, then may be ver will rememb t 
some of the good timrs we've hid tog< t' er. Ye'll remember. 

Tom. That we will, and we'll niver brake the band till one of us 
be dead. Eh! Joe? 

Joe. No ! Come Mag, yer grewsome to-night. What is the mat- 
ter? Cheer up! 

Mag. I be a failin' as if — may be this is onr last job — what if it is? 

Tom. Com' old woman, cheer up! Ye'll live yet to see both of 
as planted, and yerself put our favorite posy above our graves, a 
skunk cabbaffe. 

Mag. Yes by's, ye mean well bv me, I know ye do. Come, draT 
the girl in. (aside) So they'd kill me, eh? I heard ye, and old 
Mag will not be so aisy killed as they exnect. Ha! ha! 

(exit, Joe, r. e. — Tom and Elsie up stage, c. 
Enter, Sqtirk, l. e. 

Mag. There's the girl. Now give me the other fifty. 

Squire. Take it. (gives money) Now uncover the girl's head. 

(takes shavsl off 

Elsie, (rises') Where am I — ? Squire Thornton ! thi* is more of 
your fiendish work. I might have known I could not cs ape voir 
hatred presence! What would you do? 

Squire. Save you from a fate worse than death, if you conse it to 
be my wife. Ah! you start! I know vour little secret. But h-c 
me tell you, your m irriage is illegal, Basil Lawrence is no more 
your husband than Humped Tom is. 

Elsie. 'Tis a lie! you are using a lie to further your own ends! 

Squire. 'Tis true — and if you refuse to aceede to my wishes, you 
shall feel Tom's fingers around that delicate white throat of yours, 
and then be thrown over the cliff into the still pool beiow. Take 
your choice! Which is it? 

Elsie. No! Death first! Help! Murder! (business 

Enter, Beauty, r. e., quickly. 

Beau. Got here ju«t in the nick of time, (pushes Tom over cliff 
and shoots Squirk) There! villain, die the death von deserve. 

Squire, (gasping) Foiled ! foiled ! curse you ! curse you ! Again 
I say— Elsie Derwent you— are nothing— more than— Basil Law- 
rentes — Mist ess! (dies 

Elsie. Dead! dead ! and died with a lie on his lips. 
CUB TAIN. 
END OF ACT II, 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 27 

ACT IH. 

SCENE.— Parlor in the home of Countess Harrington— Ball-room 

back. 

Lord Hyde. Counter, your ball will be a success. 

Countess. Thanks, Lord Hyde. I trust so. It will at least be 
verv select. 

Lord Hf/de. Yes, did you succeed In obtaining the acceptance 
card of the latest craze. Mile Cerani? 

Court. Yes, I've been doubly fortunate, as they refused the 
Duchess, of Lansdowne for me. 

Lord Hyde. I heard Mile last night in "Norma," and if there was 
ever a story written on a face, it is in hers. 

Conn. I don't like laces that mirror the soul. Basil, I hope will 
take kindly to her. 

Lord Hyde. Ah ! but not too kindly. Isn't it sad, that the memory 
of the past year of his life, doesn't return to him. 

Coun. No! I pray heaven it never will! That railway acciJent 
was the most providential thing that has ever happened. 

Lord Hyde, Madam, how can you say it, you are jesting. 

Coun. No, my Lord, I'm a wise mo her. Lord Hyde, I've a story 
to tell you to-night. 1 should have done it before, but I could not. 
Will you hear it now? 

Lord Hyde. I am at your service. Let us retire to the library, 
where we will not be disturbed. A. low ine to again prophecy a 
success. 

Coun. Let us wait till to-morrow for that. If my son coni3S to 
ine then and says he is the accepted suitor of your daughter's hand, 
1 shall Le the happiest woman in London. (exit, R. e. i 

Voice, {outside) The carriages are arriving, (pause) Lord 
II ai ringtou and Lady Isabel Hyde, (pause) Sir Arthur Gordon and 
Lady Ce-t ent DeVere. Other entrance please, (pause) Richard 
Browne. E-q., and Miss Beauty Lynne. (pause) The Hon. William 
Vance and MUs Stiohans, other entrance. Duke D'Altor and Mile 
lerani. (music 

Enter, Counters and Isabel, r. e. 

Coun. My dear, you are looking well, to-night. 

Isabel. Yes, who are here? 

Coun. All our set, but pi incip illy Ml'e Cerani. 

Isabel. I don't like that woman. Who is she anyhow? Does 
no one know her past life ? 

Coun. No one seems to know it. Some say she is a Russian 
Countess, others that she is the wi ow of our Austriam Duke, bun 
all concede her to be a royal y beautiful, and more than ordinarily 
gifted woman. 

Isabel, And a dangerous one, I have h^ard it said she wins all 
hearts. Aren't you afraid of your son's affections, Madam ? 

Coun. My son i< a gentleman and will never do aught that is dis- 
honorable. You should have made sure of his affection* ere this, 
Isabel. I entrust my son's happine-s to your care. You love him ? 

Isabel. Love him! 1 love him so much, that if another won hit 
affections from me, I believe f should kill her! 

Coun. Oh! Isab3\ that nasty word. You are too vehement. 



IS THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Enter, Lord Hyde and Basil, l. e. 

Lord Hyde. Quite a family party ! You are feeling better to- 
night, Basil? 

Basil. Yes, as though somethi"'- ('ritual was about to happen. 
That dream mother, you call it, seems to have taken firmer hold than 
ever upon my imagination. What happened here last year, a year 
ago to-night? 

Coun. Private theatricals. Don't you remember? 

Basil. No! If I could but remember, there is something I want 
to recall — what is it? 

Coun. Basil, don't excite yourself, you will make yourself worse. 

Isabel. Come Basil, let us take a turn in the conservatory and see 
the flowers. (exit, R. e. 

Coun. Did I do right right, Lord Hyde, in breaking this wretched 
marriage? (Cerani in archway 

Lord Hyde. Quite right! To have let it stand, would have been 
to leave a stain upon the family name. A union between an aristo- 
crat and a common plebean like a miller's daughter— (sees Cerani) 
Mile Cerani! 

Cerani. Pardon me, I interrupt, do I not? 

Lord Hyde. 1 assure you not. Mile Cerani, the Countess of Har- 
rington, (bows 

Coun. I am more than pleased to meet the most famous woman in 
(London. 

Cerani. You are very kind my lady. 

Lord Hyde. You overheard our con versa, ion, Mile? 

Cerani. A part of it, I meant to pass on. 

Lord Hyde. And what are your views upon the subject. 

Cerani. I believe where two people meet and sincerely, devotedly 
love each other, it is the most cruel crime in the world to separa e 
ithem. 

Coun. Let us talk of something more interesting. Have you met 
my son? Ah ! here he comes now. 

(Cerani sets him and staggers, etc., business 

Enter, Basil, r. e. 

Mile Cerani, my son Lord Harrington, (boivs) Lord Hyde, your 
arm please. (exit, l. e. 

Cerani. (aside) At last we meet. Heaven*, I thought I should 
fall dead at his ieet, were 1 ever to meet him again. 

Basil. The face in iny dream! Mile Cerani, have I ever met you 
before ? Speak ! 

Cerani, (aside) T think Lord Harrington ha? never met me before. 
(looks at him) My God ! he is mad ! 

Basil. Pardon my rudeness. Mile, your voice sounded like a 
strain of some sweet music I have heard. 

Cerani, That music belonged to — 

Basil. A face in a dream. You pirdon me? 

Cerani. Yes, there are times in every one's life, when we must 
HSk tor pardon. The dream, is it a pleasant one? 

B Lsil. A part of it is so pleasant, I wish it were true. Would it 
tire you to hear ii ? 

C'mnu No» my Lord, 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. » 

Ihsil. They say every man has his peculiarity. This id'iwfc be 

mine, y t it so strangely affects me, some times I think it muse be 
tiu . ''In a little village— the name I can't recall— methought I 
went sketching. I'm something of an amateur, and there I met anil 
loved one of nature's Queens, a beautiful and loving girl, and Mile, 
1 thought my love was fully returned. We were married. 1 was 
not of age then, in just three months I should attain mv majority, 
and. till then we pledged ourselves to keep our marriage a secret. 
We were parted; why or how, I can't remember. There my dream 
was broken, but the face in it haunts me still. Yours reminds me of 
it, you are more beautiful— she was but a bud, yet that bud gave 
promise of a beautiful blossom of beauty, as great as yours." 

(Isabel in archway 

Cerani. And this is but a dream, are you sure? 
. Basil. They tell me so. Isn't my past cruel ? 

Cerani. Her's is more sad. 

Basil. You speak as though 'twere true. What do you mean? 

Cerani. Nothing. I was only so interested in your story, I for- 
got and thought it was real. 

Basil. If I could only forget. No, I would not forget. If I could 
but recall — 

Isabel. My Lord! your mother desires your presence, can you 
give her an audience? {exit, c. d. 

Basil. My mother's every wish is law. You were so kind to 
listen to my story, Mile, will you accept this little flower in ex- 
change for your kindness. I will return soon. (bows, exit, c. d. 

Cerani. B isil ! Basil ! It is I, your Elsie. Come back, I love you 
still. So weak, and I thought I was so strong. Where are all the 
oaths of vengeance I swore? Aye, vanished like my hate. This 
little flower, he wore it. 

Enter, Isabel, c. d. 
his hand plucked it. perhaps his lips have caressed it — his dear, dear 
lips. Tell me little flower! has he kissed you? Speak! 

Isabel. Madame seems to like flowers. 'Tis too bad to waste so 
much sweetness on such a poor faded little bud. (hands her flower) 
Have a fresher one. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Cerani. Thanks, I appreciate it for the donor's sake. Yes, I 
love flowers; they are the emblems of love, pure sweet love, that 
which is constant and unselfish. 

Isabel. Still one need not devour it because— given it. You like 
Lord Harrington? 

Cei ani. Yes, he seems a true nobleman. 

Isabel. I ain °:lad to hear you praise him. One is always glad to 
hear praise of one's affianced husband. 

Cerani. Your affianced husband? 

Isabel. Yes, and I warn you not to come between us. If you do 
it will be war, war to the knife ! 

Lerani. Mile is exciting herself, Why should I care for your 
lover ? 

Isabel. Why? What have you enred for the score of meu, whe 
Dave gone mad over your beauty ! Who are you ? 

Cerani, Mile Cerani. 

Isabel. You are an adventuress. 

Cerani. No! no! not that! Who calls me an adventuress? Am 
t growing mad? 



to THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

(half f tinting ft tils into chair — papers fall from dress 
Isabel. I might kill her, no 0113 would know. Isabel Hyde a 
murderer, no! What's th*s ! the lo^t Harrington betrothal ring! 
The one I have sworn to wear, and this! (reads copy of marringe 
certificate) "This is %<\ certify t at I hive joined in holy wedlock, 
Basil Lawrence and Elsie Dervvent. Kev. John Archibald, Rash- 
leigh." June 19, 1876. "Those whom God hath joined together, le: 
no man put asunder." Speak woman ! is this true or some clever 
scheme of yours to win my lover? 

Cerani. (risina) 'Tis true, I am Basil Lawrence Harrington's 
deserted wife. You may thank heaven you have heard it betore it 
was too late. 

Isabel. It is false! 

Cerani. Give me the papers; they are mine, and the ring I pur- 
chased with a life's love and devotion. Give it back ! 

Isabel. No, I shall take them to Lady Harrington and force the 
truth from her. 

Cerani. You will hear my storv first? 

Isabel. Yes, I will listen, but I do not believe you. 

Cerani. There was never a young girl had a sadder life than I 
have h;id. You th'nk I'm a happy woman! Ah! my heart carries 
a wound that time has not hea!e I. Some hearts bleed inwardly, and 
those woun Is are hardest to staunch. 

Isabel. Cease and tell the story. What is Basil to you? 

Cerani. I was a young girl when B-isil Lawrence came to our 
tillage on a sketching tour. We met, loved and were married. On 
one summer morning he was called away, and I have not seen him 
until to-night. What am I to him? I am his deserted wife. 

Isabel. Then his dream was more than an illusion? 

Cerani. it is the story of his lile. Will you give me back the 
proof, they are all I have, 

Isabel. No! I shall take them to Lady Harrington and learn the 
truth. Come with me, anywhere but here Come! (exit, c. d. 

Enter, Beauty and Dickey, l. e. 

Beau. Any mail, Dick? 

Dick, As usual, after the males? To be serious, ye* : Cerani — 

Browne — Lynne — Lynne — Lynne — Cerani Lynne— Lynne. One 

fiom your latest catch, Lord Dundeady. 

Beau. So soon ! Landed him rather soon! Delightful isn't he? 
A little unsteady on his legs. I could prop him up; £2000 a year is 
worth looking after. Yes! ye«, he might do in a pinch. 

Dick. Bah ! too ancient. He would look well on a bracket labeled 
— a rare old fosse! — date unknown. 

Beau. No! a little hard on him I call it. Say Dickey, why are 
you so critieal about all my catches? Now this man's aire is just 
the thing. That's the consolation, he can't live lonr, so I think I'll 
rake him. I'm so in love with thnt little chuckle of. (laughs) it makes 
him too utterly — yes, I think I like old men be«t, they are so kind. 
v , Dick. Hum, t .e young men don't seem to be very cruel to you. 

B an. There vou're wrong. I've known some to be positively 
ih'ihby dreadfollv slow, (aside) That's a gentle kick. 

/) ck That brainless chap Danvers, made a big enough (ool ot 
himself to convince me differentlv. 

Beau. Yes, wasn't he ni e, I would have had him, only I do so 
ftdore lightheaded men, 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. « 

Dick. I've noticed that. Why don't you go in for an idiot and 
be done with it. 

Beau. I may take vour advice. Yoti wouldn't have me, would 
you Dick? 

Dick. By jove! I've a no ion to take you at your word. 

Beau. That would b»> to acknowledge yourself an idiot. Havel 
any on my list: Lord Dimdeidy he stands first now; Hon. Charles 
Carlton, Horace Danvers. Sir Gordon Bircou and— no, I don't think 
an v of them are idiOis, no yon ? 

Dick. Some of them are near it. 

Beau. Say Dick, what have any of them done to you? 

Dick. Nothing. 

Beau. I thought they had. Don't you feel well, better take 
something for your stomach. 

Enter. Lord Hyde, r. e. 

Ah ! Lord Hyde! Mr. Brown, I think I left my fan on the piano, 
would you kindly get it for me? Don't hurry. 

Dck. {aside) Ihi little heathen, {aloud) Would be delighted. 

{exit, l. e. 

Beau. Aren't you glad we are alone? 

Lord Hyde. Immensely! (aside) As playful as a kitten, by 
George! Is the girl in love with me? (aloud) Yes, I've been 
;d<>ne for twelve years. 

Beau. Your wile been dead that long? Why, you must have 
lieen left a very young widower, and you never married again. 
How lonely you must feel. 

Lord Hyde, lam now seventy; the age when a man is in his 
prime — 

beau. Just a ripe age, seventy? Why Lord Hyde, I shouldn't 
lave taken you to be a day over f Tty-five. You don't look it. 

Lord Hyde. Ah ! I'm afraid you flatter ! 

Beau. Flatter! that's the same thing as calling me a story teller. 
1 don't like thai". 

Lord Hyde. Xo, no, my dear, I didn't mean that. 

(k'^ses her hand 

Beau. Did you mean that? I like it batter. 

Enter, Dicky, l. e. 

Dick. Ahem! ahem! 

Beau, (aside to Dickey) Dickey, don't spoil the chance I've 
been looking tor all my li e. Jt may be my list, and you wouldn't 
lil.e to leel you had made me an old maid. 

i>ick. Heavens no! go in for it. I'm out. (exit, L. e. 

Beau, (aside) How provoking — 1 can't make that booby jealous. 
(aloud) Tou were saying something about marrying again — 

Lord Hyde. Was 1 — no one would want to be an old man's dar- 
liiiir. 

Beau, (aside) There, I was a little too fast, but I'll catch him 
yet. {aloud) Oh ! yes, it is much better to be that, than a young 
man's slave. 

Lord Hyde. You mean that? By George, would you? 

Beau. Well I might if I got the chance. 
^Lord Hyde. Would you be my M_ay ? 



SB THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Beau. I would rather be your little Beauty. But this is so 
fiudden! I never expected it. Why, it takes my breath away! 
Wait till I catch it. Oh ! my Lord, you do me too much honor. 
Of course I couldn't say ye- right away. Give me three mon th- to 
decide. That's a dear — (aside) arid if nothing better turns up, I'll 
do it just to get even with Richard Browne. 

Lord Hyde. My dear, 1 should like to take you by this little hand 
now, and say to all the world, this is the dearest little girl in all the 
world — my wife. 

Beau. I'm nearly willing, but I couldn't stand it to-night, I'm so 
shy, Lord Hyde. 

Lord Hyde. Call me Wattie. 

Beau. Dear Wattie, ain't that nicer? You'll never love your 
ownest own, anv less? 

Lord Hyde. I shall grow to love you more, and I hope we may 
live many happy years together. 

Beau, (aside) 1 hope not. Heav-ns! how long does the oil 
fossil expect to exist, (aloud) And if one of lis must die first, I 
hope it will be me. I should so hate to have you leave me alone. 

Lord Hyde. Oh! my dear, I'm so old— 

Beau. .Now I won't hear you say a word against yourself — there 
-leary, you're such a nice old' man. Oh ! < fondles him 

Lord Hyde. You will have to be my stay and prop. 

Beau. Oh! I'm good for a dozen, but I "can't marry you i.l I tell 
^ou something awful about myself— I've got a horrible temper. 
There, ain't that dreadful? 

Lord Hyde. Now my dear, I won't hear you desparage yourself. 

Beau. Oh! but I have, I'm a regular little tiger, when I'm mad. 

Lord Hyde. You don't look like it. 

Beau. Don't I! but I am, and— Oh! I'm an awful talker— would 
fou believe it. Several young men have held their arms on, and 
then went off and said all sorts of n isty tilings about me. 

Lord Hyde. Let them do it now. i should silence them or die. 

Beau.^ (aside) If he only would do the last, (aloud) No, [ 
shouldn't let you risk your precious life for such simpering silly 
idiots. 

Lord Hyde. What a little baby you are. 

Beau. No, I am not. A baby is an adorable thing, and I'm far 
from that. 

Lord ityde. You are the sweetest little one in the world. 

Beau. Oh ! you dear duckey — buy er baby a sugar plirai — oh 
ootsy, tootsy. 

Lord Hyde. You shall have it. Would you mind kissing me? 
_ Beau. Not the least, I enjoy it. (they hiss) Oh ! you little dar- 
ting, (aside) No fool like an old one. (aloud) Now my dear, let 
us get an ice, I'm so thirsty, (aside) Bah ! I want to take the taste 
oil my mouth, (aloud) Oh ! my Lord. 

(courtesies — laughs and coquettes — exeunt, l. e. 

Enter, Cerani and Basil, r. g. 

Basil. I'm so restless, Mile sing to me. 

Cerani. (aside) Now for the test. Will he know me then? 
[aloud) Certainly, I will sing an old favorite of mine. 



TEE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. *> 

• : ' On the banks of Allan Water, 

Where the sweet spring tide did fall ; 
Was the miller's lovely daughter, 
Fairest of them all. 

For a bride a soldier sought her, 
And a winning tongue had he ; 
On the banks of Allan Water, 
None as gay as she. 

On the banks of Allan Water, 
When brown Autum spreads it's store, 
There I saw the Miller's daughter, 
But she smiled no more. 

For the summer, grief has brought her, 
And the soldier, false was he ; 
On the banks of Allan Water, 
None as sad as she. 

Basil. Stop! that was her song— Elsie's song, ean ; t be? Yes! it 
/ias all come back, thank God, before 'twas too late. Elsie ! Elsie ! 
my dear, dear wife ! 

'Cerani. Yes Basil, your deserted wife. Stop, don't touch me 
until you have righted me. Give me my fair name. 

Basil. That I wlH do— Mother ! Isabel ! 

Enter, Countess and Isabel, r. e. 

Conn. Lost! lost! his memory has come back. 

Isabel, Say this is false ! swear it! and prove her a thief an J a 
former. 

Basil. 'Tis true! this is the wife you so cruelly separated me 
fiom, mother! Elsie, Lady Harrington. 

Cerani. The mailer's daughter Mile, only a miller's daughter. 

Conn. 'Tis a lie! She's no wife, I annul the marriage. You 
were a minor, I have the power of a guardian to declare That mar- 
liage invalid, and I do it. 

Basil. Mother, I forbid you to speak farther. Silence! 

Cerani. Neither wife, maid or wid< w ! Then my God ! what am 

* ? (falls 

Basil. Mother, you have killed her. (kneels by Cerani 

Conn. It would be the kindest ihing I have done in niy life, if I 

had. To-morrow all London will bd laughing at your folly. What 

wretched fate brought her here? 
Isabel. Then you acknowledge her cla 



in 



Coun. I acknowledge, nothing. She is no more to me than the 
worm that crawls the earth. 

Isabel. And you have trampeled upon her, bocause she crossed 
your path — 

Cow. It. was all because I loved you Isabel, and it was my ambi- 
tion to see you my son's wife. 

Isabel. Madam, I loved your son, jealously loved him, but do 
yon think I would have married him and known this. No, I have 
escaped a fate worse than death, through no kin Iness of yours, you 
are a bad cruel woman. 



24 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Coun. My God, you too turn against me, surely my sin has found 
me out. My son! 

Basil. Mother, may God forgive you, T never can. Won't you 
make the reparation you can, by acknowledging our marriage? 

Coun. Never! Choose between me and her. 

Basil, (rising, lifts his wife in his arm) I choose my wife. 
Henceforth our paths, mother, lie ap irt. I do not ask you to leave 
here. Something is clue to the house of Harrington. You may re- 
main ; I shall go, and until your foolish pride will allow you to wel- 
come my wife, you shall never see my face. 

Coun. You have chosen ? 

Basil. Yes, look upon your work and enjoy it if you can. My 
prayer is that you may not have a moments peace of conscience 
Farewell, Lady Harrington. 

Coun. My son ! my son ! it was all for von, it was all for you. 

Basil. Cease your excuses. There is one name only that should 
Answer/your sin and that is crime! Farewell. 
1 Coun? It was all for you — it was all for you. (faints 

CURTAIN. 

END OF ACT III. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE. — Interier of miller's cotta e — storm. 

Mr. D. What a fierce, fierce storm ! God pity any (looking of c.) 
wanderer that is out to-night. Just two years ago, 1 drove my only 
child from home. Since then I have not passed a happy hour. 1 
see her face every where, I can he^r her voice m the winds. But I 
don't forgive her, no! no! I'll never forgivo her, why don't I for- 
get her ! How dark it drows. Beauty ! Beauty ! 

Enter, Beauty, l. u. e. 

Beau. Coming as soon as I get this basket of chickens next the 
fire. Did you call before? I guess 1 must be growing old and dear, 
sure enough I found a crows foot under my eye this morning. 

Mr. D. Beauty, I forbade j«fu to speak of Elsie when you came 
back, do you ram ember? My lips had never in all that time framed 
her name, I could not. To-night— isn't that a terrible storm? — I 
will hear her story. 

Beau, (aside) Is he relenting at last! Too late! too bite! Oh! 
if I could but tell the story, so he would torgive. (aloud) Well, 
when we went from here, Elsie and I took lodging's in London. 
We did plain sewing, and Dfck worked in a lawyer's office. What 
money we gathered we used to perfect Elsie's voiee, and it was the 
happiest moment in our lives, when the Pi of. gave her a solo to sing 
in a concert. You should have seen how the audience raved, it 
seemed it would not be satisfied. Soon offers from managers poured 
in from every where, and we woke up one morning, to find our 
darling famous. We traveled in all the cities of Europe, returning 
to London in December. We went to ;a fashionable ball an I there 
she met again the husban 1 who had Ueserte I her. He had been iu- 
juiedina railway accident and lost; his memory. On hearing her 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. Sb 

Aug that little song of tier's, his lost faculty returned, and he ac- 
knowledged Elsie his wife. ITU mother refused to recognize the 
marriage, as lie was only :i minor when it was contracted. There 
whs a stormy scene, and I tell von that old woman drove her mad. 
She left the ball room and 1 have never seen her since. Dickey and 
J moved heaven and earth almost to rind her, but to no avail, then I 
"aine home to you. 

Mr. D. And I cursed her! Did she bear me any ill feeling? 

Beau. Ah! she couldn't do that. Oh ! Elsie! Elsie! 

(Elsie looks in window 

Mr. D. Hush child, that is enough ! Now don't ever speak her 
•lame ajain. She knows better than to come back here. She knows 
I'D not forgive her. No never ! She killed her mother! (Elsik 
starts) D > you hear? She killed her mother! Yes, the same as if 
she plunged a dagger in her heart. Curse her! curse h'-r! (busi- 
ness) Ah! I'm growing numb. Look, that hand is dead! My 
arm's stitl! No! no! I take back the curse, it is the vengeance of 
heaven. (f a u s oac k in chair 

Enter, Elsie, l. e., quickly. 

Elsie. Father! father! Speak to me, take me back. 'TisI Elsie 
you i child come back to die. 

Beau. Elsie! No, he's not dead. (feels his heart 

Elsie. Speak father! Say you lorgive me. 

Beau. Dickey! Dickey! Oh! if he was only here. I never 
.vauted him so bad in my life. What can I do? 'I'm all in a mud- 
dle. Which is best, hot or cold water? 

Enter, Dickev, r. e. 

Dick. There's that battery going again, (sees Elsie) Elsie, back 
.! I ist — what doe* this mean ? 

Beau. Assist uncle to his bed. No question's now, I havn't time 
\o answer. Cheer up Elsie, we will bring him around all right. 

(exeunt, l. e 

Re-enter, Beauty and Dickky, l. e. 

Beau. It is better to teave her alone with him, when he rallies 
h( r's will be the first face to greet him. 

Dick. What a wise little woman you are becoming. 

Beau. Do you think so! Mr. Brown, I really must make my 
oest bow. You make a compliment in the best of style. If I had a 
sugar plum, you should have — half of it. 

Dick. Yes, I'd get the seed — 

Bmn. Listen! he has awakened. (Elsie sings "Mottoes on the 
wair — Beauty cries— business) I wish you wouldn't smoke, it 
makes me so uncomfortable. Boo hoo! now stop! 

Dick. I wasn't smoking. 

Beau. Well, you wanted to. 

Dick. If that makes you uncomfortable, I'll do it. Who's made 
me uncomfortable all my life? 

Benu. I haven't asked you to be a victim to my smiles, have I ? 
We're having a dreadful storm? 

Dick, Yes, it remind* me of you. 



26 THE MILL EH' S DAUGHTER. 

Beau. Hadn't you better hug c'ose, just to prove you aren't afraid 
nf me. Oh! it's so nice to be comforted! (voice outside) Whoa! 
whoa! whoa! 

Dick. The coach ! Who can be coming this way, such a night? 

Beau. JSJy late, most likely; I always expected him to come in a 
storm. 

Dick. No! mine! you always want everything. 

Beau. I say it's mine, so there ! I shall stand at the door and 
grab him — 

Enter, Basil, c. d. 

Dick. The devil! 

Beau. You can have h : m Dickey. Lord Harrington, what brings 
yon here? 

Basil. I have come for Elsie, my wife. Sincj the night she left 
us so suddenly, I have spent day and night searching for her. I 
have traced her here. 

Beau. Ami if it is too late? 

Basil. She is not dead ! Tell me she is not dead ! 

Beau. No, she is here, but greatly changed. You will see a sad- 
eyed, broken hearted woman, Lord Harrington. 

Basil. How she must have suffered. So have I ; I have lived and 
:lied a thousand death it seems. Where is she? Let me see her? 
Can I go to her? 

Beau. In good time, I will go and prepare her for the shock. 
Strange some women will get smocked at the sight of a man. Now 
I don'r. (exit, r. e. 

B isil. Miss Lynne possesses a golden heart. 

Dick. Iron, and from the present outlook she intends to keep it. 

Bas I. Faint heart never won fair lady. 

Dick. Bother such trash ! Haven't 1 done everything to get her? 

Basil. Have you spoken the word? 

Dick. No, but I've acted it enough. Hang it, does a fellow have 
to get down on his prayer bones in this prosaic 19th century? No, 
I'll be— 

Enter, Beauty, r. e. 

Beau, (aside) I'll have him here, see if I don't. 

Bisil. You have seen her? She will forgive — 

B<au. 1 don't know, 1 have told her there is a friend here who 
wishes to see her. 

Basil. She will come? 

Beau. She has promised. She is coming now. Step behind that 
curtain, she must not see you yet. 

Enter, Elsie, r. e. 

Elsie. Beauty, who is the friend who wishes to see me? 

Beau. Who would you rather see than anyone in this world? 

Elsie. Who? Though I have suffered through him, I would 
rather see Basil. 

Basil, (comes forward) Elsie! 

Elsie. Lord Ilarrinuton, wny are you here? 

Basil. To acknowledge you my wife. Won't you come back to 
me? 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. S7 

Elsie. Lord Harrington, you do me too much honor, your wife! 
I thought your mother had passed judgment on our union. No, 
We suffered already more at your hands than I can bear again — 
Basil. But were I to prove our marriage valid? 
Elsie. Prove that first ! I was once a trusting, simple girl, but I 
have come through the fire a suspicious woman. Your mother has 
relented ? 
Basil. I am sorry to say she has not. 

Elsie. Then why do you come here again? Do you wish me to 
again go through a mock ceremony? 

Dick, (to Beauty) Don't you think it's getting a little warm in 
this room? I'd rather be out in the storm. 

Beau. And I—let's go? (exit, l. e. 

Basil. No! Elsie, can't you trust me? 
Elsie. I trusted once and found my idol clay. 
Basil. But were I to convince you we are legally wed. The 
Pillage, where we were married, is on the Scotch border, you know 
the law? We have been legally wed. Oh! my darling, if we had 
only known this before, what misery we might have escaped. 

Elsie. Then 1 am your wife, Basil ! I am so happy. Let us ask 
lather's blessing; when he gives that, I shall willingly give you a 
wife's love and devotion. Let us go to him, he lies in yonder room, 
,a helpless man, his iron will is broken. Come Basil! 

Bjsil. Elsie, my love, my wife! (.exeunt, R. e. 

Enter, Beauty and Dickey, l. k. 

Beau. Poo! hoo! marry you ! it's the most absurd thing I havf 
heard for some time. I feel as if I wanted to find some soft spot and 
uie. Ha! ha! How in the world did you manage to scare up 
enough courage to do it. I wouldn't have believed it of you. 

(laughs 

Dick. Don't laugh at a fellow. He's bound to have the fever 
some time or other. 

Beau. Say, you've got it pretty bad, ain't you? I ain't laughing, 
Dickey, you do look so funny! (laughs 

Dick. Fellow is bound to look queer when he's got it. 

Beau. So you mean this for a genuine otter; you'r not triffling 
vviih my affections? Well, down on your knees and do it in a gal- 
lant style. 

Dick. 'Spose I'll have to do it. (kneels) Beauty, I love you, will 
you be my little wife? Name the day right away. (rises 

Beau. No, I don't! I must have three months to consider. Yes 
I must, so there! 

Dick. But the suspense, I know it will run me into a shadow. 

Beau. Say, Dickey, you was on your knees, wasn't you? I 
thought you wouldn't do such ;i foolish thing. 

Dick. Well, you needn't go 'round telling the whole town, need 
you? 

Beau. Oh! I'm just as shamed of it as yeu are. I'll just tell 
uncle, Elsie, Basil and— 

Dick. Might as well write it on the gate post, "This is to certify, 
Dickey Brown is a great big fool." 

Beau. Humph! a great big fool, just because you fell in love 
with uie ? 



S8 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Dick. Well, 1 just won't stand it three months. I think you might 
be sensible once." If you don't, I know what I'll do, I'll get the 
clothes line and go oiit and hung myself. 

Beau. Say, Dickey, take the new one, it's the stoutest. 

Dick. Oh! you won't, get rid of me so easy. I'll come back and 
haunt, you. You won't like it much when I come tojyour bedside 
with marks of strangulation around my lily white throat. 

Beau. Oh! that would be better than coming with your head 
under your arm. There! there! Dickey, you must be satisfied. 
Three months, you can save lots of money to buy a farm and 1 can 
have lots of fun. 

Dick. No, I wont stand it. 

Beau. Well, you can do the other thing then, for when my minds 
made up, I don't go back. 

Dick. You just give back that ring then and my horse-hair chain. 

Beau. Do 1 h ve to give up this ring? 

Dick. Yes sir! and every one of my letters. 

Beau. Take your old things. Boohoo! boo boo! (gives ring 

Dick. Don't cry. 

Beau. I ain't crying, I'm ju-t laughing to think what trouble I've 
e caped. Just go right off, L don't wan't to see you again. 

Dick. Do you n ean it? 

Beau. Course I do, you hoi rid old thing. 

Dick. Well, I'll doit. If ever the billows of trouble are over 
your head, and you need a friend, piomise you will remember me. 

Beau, (aside) Gee, don't he talk nice, he sounds just like an 
autograph album. 

Dick. You will think kindly of me when I'm gone. 

Beau. Boo boo! boo h< o! ain't you gone? 

Dick. B* auty, haven't you got one kind word to say to me before 
1 go? You'll be sorry when I'm gone. 

Beau. You'r a merkii old brute so you are, you just go 'round 
breaking the girls hearts. I hate you ! I hate you! Boohoo! boo 
hoo ! 

Dick. Good-bye, Beauty, good-bye! 

Beau. Good-bye, good-bve! Boo hoo! Oh! dear. Oh! dear. 
I shall never speak to you again. 

Dick. Good-bye. (exit, l. e. 

Beau. Good-bve, good-bye ! He's gone and I didn't mean a word 
I said. Boohoo! I just know he'll never come back. Boohoo! 
Mean thing, he might have known I was fooling. Well, if he don't 
come back. I'll just live an oil maid, so I will, and 1 don't want to 
either. Boolno! Oh! Dickey! Dickey! 

Enter, Dickey, l. e. 

Dick. I'm here! 

Beau. Didn't go very far, did you? I knew you'd come back. 
Sit right down and I'll reason with you, there! (sits on lounge 

Dick. I don't want to be reasoned with. 

Beau. Oh ! yes you do, if I do if. Sav, do you know I believe 
I'm beginning to like you. (business) Oh! don't get so near. 

Dick. No! Well, I've lived you all the time, ever since we were 
both in petticoats. 

Beau. And you used to cry for the biggest piece of pie. 

Dick. And then you'd coax it away from me. 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. *$ 

Beau. Oh ! we must have love 1 each other an awful long time. 
Am I crowding you ? 

Dick. Oh, no ! I like to be crowded. 

Beau. Do you, so do I. You can crowd just as much as you 
want. Do you still want to marry me? 

Dick. Yes, for better or worse. 

Beau. I'm afraid 'twill all be worse. 

Dick. I'll risk it. 

B'au. You promise you won't never tease me again? 

Dick. Yes. 

Beau. Nor call me horrid names? 

Dick. Yes, anything. 

Bean. And you'll always obey me — come in early at night — tell 
me all your lodge secrets— mind th ;— ? 

D ck. Ye6, but for heaven's sake, wait till we are married. 

Beau. And I can do just as 1 please, withoutyour tagging around 
after me? 

Dick. Anything. 

Beau. And I shall want a new bonnet every season. 

Dick, You sb- 11 have it. 

Beau. Then I'm yours. Take in your arms the poor lone orphan, 
who's not able to take care of herself — (business 

Enter, Basil, Elsie and Mr. Derwent, r. e. 

The e Mr. Brown, I think the dust is out of my eye. 

Dick. Here it is on the tip of my linger. 

Beau. Thank you. (io Elsie) Mr. Brown came to my assis- 
tance in an hour of distress. 1 suflered with a piece of dust in my 
eye and he has removed it. 

Elsie. Well that was kind of him, considering the amount of dust 
you've been throwing into his eyes lately. 

B-att. Me throw dust; 1 don't understand. 

Elsie. You treated him shamefully. 

Beau. Well, lie seemed to like it. Say, has uncle forgiven you? 

Elsie. Father has forgiven us both. He has taken I. ick the curse. 

Beau. I'm so happy, I want to go off and have a ^ood cry. 

D.ck. So do I — let's go. 

Bean. No, I can stand it a little while longer; you just want to 
get me by myself. Oh ! you'll have enough of me after while. 

B isil. Now father, will you give us vour blessing — 

Beau. Just pass us one, please. D.ckey and I are to be one, and 
I'm to be the one — see? 

Elsie. But I thought you was never going to marry. 

Beau. I didn't want to, but he just forced me into it. He'll be 
*orrv, lor I shall lead him a terrible life. I'll have him in chains 
half the time. 

Dick. And I shall hug my chains. 

Elsie. You have given up the idea of becoming a countess? 

Beau. Yes, they are all frauds — [ mean all that wante I me. I 
huve got what is better— a noble, honest man. 

Elsie, That you have— brave, brave Dickey. I siall never forget 
what a true, staunch friend you were to me. 

Dick. Don't! 1 don't want to cry now, it wouldn't be proper. 

Beau. Uncle, can Dickey have me? He hasn't the cqurage to 
*sk for himself. 



90 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Mr. D. And yon want to leave me too? I don't know what I 
shall do without my little romp. 

Beau. That's what Dickey thought — yes yon did — 

Mr. D. Well, I've grown old and can't afford to give anything hut 
mv blessings. God bless you all and keep you in the paths of peace 
and pio-peritv. 

Elsie. Father ! my dear, dear father. 

Dick. I want to dance, I feel so good. 

Dick. Let's all air our throat?. (song— "Home Again'* 

Basil. See the storm has ceased. It is the precursor of a bright 
new life. 

Elsie. And we shall 1 ve it so nobly, so grandly. 

Basil. Yes, now surely "Bound in Honor." 

CURTAIN. 

THE END. 



* OUR * KITTIE. ■» 

A Comedy Drama in three acts by Minnie Poison, for 

6 male and 3 female characters. Costumes easily 

obtained. Time of performance 2 hours. 

SYNOPSIS OF EVENTS. 

ACT!.— Ho-reof Major Hnrt— Rns-nmnd and her uncle— A letter from Col. Gordon 
—"Re afath'r tomy letter gri 1"— "Oil! these fenvile> I detest them"— The te'egram. 
"I'm coming"— A'-rival o F "On- Kittie"— "A regular cvclone in pelt coats''— "Our 
Pet' -H'»! Eh] ha!— Mrs. Carter's (right— Kittie rides 'he Major's nee hord*. Fir >fly 
— ' ! these femiles, th^v "ill he the death of me"— Christopher Columbus— Mr. 
Warhlpr, of Warblersvi'le— "W ny dovn T? irnu n cagf it"— Kittie snubs the Warbler 
— "Shecom^d from de West, she did" — K<'ti" an 1 her guardian — C A. Davenport — 
A formf r lover of Kittie's rnothe —"Gold Dust Arthur's arrh al"— "L iok out Guardy, 
you'll explode " 

ACT II.— The interrupted proposal— Is it Ki'tie or Rose, 1 1 ove— Arthur andKitt ; e 
—The failur • of the -nines— The Major's despair— "I am ruined" — Gold dust Arthur 
proposes t > Kittie— How Kittie accepts it— Mrs. Car er an • Chri-topher. 

ACT III.— T tt e ruined home— Mrs. Carter and Chr Gopher have a disagreement- 
Gobi Dust Arthur has ruined us— Notes not worth UV paper they are written on— 
Kittie's resolve— Ro^emond's appeal to Col. Davenport-, a failure— $5,000 for y u 
Kittie, if you will be my wife— I accept it and the condition— "God help me to bear 
this new «orr^w — "Guardy, here is the money which will give you — A heart within a 
Hart — "Col. D »ve iport comes h"re as my future husband — Kittie's fortune comes one 
bon- late— Arthur's dispair at Kittie's radi act— Col. Davenport discovers Kitt'e in 
[Arthur's arm ; the explanation hy Warb'er — The Col. releases Kittie and presents her 
|w t'i the $5,000 as a wedding present— Christopher discovers Major Hart and Mrs. 
■Caiter's love affair — "Our Kittie it was who has saved us"— Hapnv ending, and six 
|ofakind. Price 15o. 

<*■ OLIVET ; 4- 

— OR, A RARE — 

Teu tonic S pecimen. 

A Farce in one act by J. E. Crary, for 3 male and- 2 fe- 
male characters. Costumes modern. Time 25 minutes. 

SYNOPSIS. 
Curtain rises on a room at Madam Dear's Seminary for girls. 
Olivet conveys the sad news to her lover Maxmillian, that they musr 
part. Three rears previous to this time, a wealthy bnchelor saw 
Olivet sinking on the street, he sends her to school, providing she 
will become his w ; 'e at the end of three years. The time has ex- 
pired and August Monson, the wealthy bachelor, comes for his 
affianced. By mistake, Gus Monson, the rare Teutonic Specimen, 
comes into Madam Dear's house and is taken for Monson, the 
bachelor. It is discovered that he is not the wealthy Mr. Monson, 
the young people dress him up as Olivet, to fool Monson. Madam 
schemes to get Monson to propose to her, which he does and forgives 
all deceptions played oa him. Happy ending.. Price 15q, 



^ LITTLE GOLDIE; 4> 

OR, 

The Child o f the Ca mp. 

A. Western Comedy Drama in Four (4) Acts for 11 male 
and 3 female characters, by 

MR, CHARLES 0, WILLARD, 

Little Goldie is a strong Western drama. It is replete 

with startling situations, thrilling incidents and 

interesting from the beginning to the 

end. Dutch, Irish and Negro 

characters for the 

comedy parts. > 

SYNOPSIS OF EVENTS. 

ACT I.— The picnic near the ".Flack Hawk's" cave. The lawyers and Mike. Little 
Goldie has fun with the Judge. Mike makes love to Matilda. The Judge is appealed 
to. Matilda and the Judge. Joe arrived late. The Captain of the Black Hawks 
shows up. Tells the pang a storv. Old Jones is rich. The plot. Peter's meets old 
Jones. The struggle. Little Goldie to the rescue, backed by the Judge and hia 
"cannon." "It wouldn't do in this glorious climate of Colorado." 

ACT II— The Col. and the Mnj. lament the escape of the Black Hawks. The 
Judge gets drunk. M'ke tells some new. The boys lay" for the school teacher. 
The school teacher arrives. A female. The Judge makes a speech. Joe drops in and 
cuts them all out. Matilda and the Judge. Mike gets mad. The Capt. of the Black 
Hawks again. Little Goldie at her pranks— has trouble with Godfrey. Joe inter- 
feres. The Col. and Maj. get in their work. Judge tries to escape from Matilda. 
'Mike helps him out. The recognition. The story. I will be there. The quarrel. 
"Dion th-t knife, or I'll fill yon full of holes." 

ACT III.— The home of Edith. Matilda tells a little gossip and departs. Joe calls 
and tells Edith of his love. The Ju^ge hears him refused. Joe departs. The Judge 
, tries his hand. Matilda unexpe<*etdly returns. The Judge in a fix. Little Goldie 
1 again. A new baby. Godfrey calls on Edith. The promise. "So will I." The Col. 
and Maj. Mike ha.pr-ens a loner. The Judge takes a hand. Little Goldie looking for 
Joe. Handsome Harrv. "I'll play this alone if I die for it." Near the Black Hawk's 
retreat. The Black Hawks. Godfrey waiting Edith's arrival. Edith arrives. 
"Never." "Then ?o where you belong." Handsome Harry to^ the rescue. "Defend 
yourself." Harry is overpowered. The fate of a traitor. Goldie to the rescue. The 
ter-i hie fall of Godfrey. »„..,». . ^ ,,.„ ™ 

ACT IV.— Bummer Jones' (George Winfred) home in Denver. Mike Flynn in 
command. The reformed Bummer. The letters. The letter from the nephew. The 
nephew arrives. Godfrev as a "Missionary." The uncle writes a letter dictated by 
thenephow. Tb» arrival of the Judge. The murder. The Col. and Joe. Godfrey's 
claim. Mikp tells what he beard. Godfrey accused of murder. "His child and 
tv>e heiress is dead." The heiress found is Little Goldie. Handsome Harry. Godfrey 
cheats the b>w. Edith and Joe. Unevpeeted arrival of Matilda. Happy finale. 

Amateurs will find this piece just what they want, as it 
was written expressly for them. 

PRICE 25 CENTS PER COPY. 



Order a copy of 

Ames' Publishing Co,, 

took Box 162. - - Clyde, Ohio. 



Ames' Plays — G nntinuEd. 



176 
207 
199 
174 
158 
149 
37 
237 
126 
265 
114 
264 

219 
239 
221 
262 
87 
131 
240 



16 



Comedies Continued. 

Factory Girl 6 

Heroic Dutchman of '76 8 

Home 

Love's Labor Not Lost 3 

Mr. Hudson's Tiger Hunt 1 

New Years in N. Y 7 

Not So Bad After All 6 

Not Such a Fool as He Looks 6 

Our Daughters 8 

Pug and the Baby 5 

Passions 8 

Prof. James' Experience 

Teaching Country School 4 

Rags and Bottles 4 

Scale with Sharps and Flats.. 3 

Solon Shingle 14 

Two Bad Boys 7 

The Biter Bit 

The Cigarette 4 

$2,000 Reward 2 

TRAGEDIES. 
The Serf 6 



FARCES & COMEDIETTA S. 



129 



Aar-u-ag-oos 2 

132 Actor and Servant 1 

S16 Aunt Charlotte's Maid 3 

289 A Colonel's Mishap 

12 A Capita Match 

303 A Kiss in the Dark 

166 ATexan Mother-in-Law 4 

30 A Day Well Spent 7 

169 A Regular Fix 2 

286 A Professional (Jardener 4 

80 Alarmingly Suspicious 4 

320 All In A Mud lie 3 

78 An Awful Criminal 3 

313 A Matchmaking Father 2 

31 A Pet of the Public 4 

21 A Romantic Attachment 3 

123 A Thrilling Item 3 

"0 A Ticket of Leave 3 

175 Betsey Baker 2 

8 Better Half 5 

86 Black vs. White 4 

22 Captain Smith 

84 Cheek Will Win 

287 Cousin Josiah 

225 Cupids Capers 4 4 

317 Cleveland's Reception Party. 5 ' 

249 Double Election 9 1 

49 Der Two Surprises 1 

72 Deuce is in Him 5 

19 Did Dream it 4 

42 Domesric Felicity 1 

18S Dutch Prize Fighter 3 

22«> Dutohyvs. Nigger 

1 H Eh? W at Did You Say 3 

218 Everybody Astonished 

221 Fooling with the Wrong Man 2 1 

233 Freezing a Moiher-in-Law... 2 1 

151 Fun in a Post Office 4 2 



5 
4 
2 
3 
3 
3 
2 
2 
3 
1 
2 
2 
2 
2 
3 3 
3 ii 
1 1 



a^ 



No. 

184 Family Discipline 

274 Family Jars 

209 (loose with the (iolden Eggs.. 

13 (Jive Mo My Wife 

307 Hallahnhoola, the Medicine 

Man 

66 Hans, the Dutch J. P 

2i 1 Hans Brummel's Cafe 

116 Hash 

120 II. M. S. Plum 

50 How She has Own W , 

140 ||<»w He Popped the Quest'n. 

74 How to Tame M-in-Law 

35 How Stout Your Getting 

247 Incompatibility of Temper... 

95 In the Wrong Clothes 

305 Jacob Shlaff's Mistake 

199 Jimmie Jones 

11 John Smith 

323 Johanes Blatz'a Mistake 

99 Jumbo Jum 

82 Killing Time 

182 Kittie's Wedding Cake..... 

127 Lick Skillet Wedding 

2'2S hauderbach's Little Surprise 

302 Locked in a Dress-maker's 

Room 

106 Lodgings for Two 

288 Love in all Corners 

139 Matrimonial Bliss 

231 Match for a other-Mi n-Law.. 
235 More Blunders than one 

69 Mother's Fool 

23 My Heart's in Highlands 

208 My Precious Betsey 

212 My Turn Next 

32 Mv Wife's Relations 

186 My Day and Now-a-Days 

273 My Neighbor's Wife 

296 Nanka's Leap Year Venture.. 

259 Nobody's Moke 

44 Obedience 

33 On the Sly 

57 Paddy Miles' Boy 

217 Patent Washing Machine 

165 Persecuted Dutchman 

195 Poor Pilicody 

159 Quiet Family 

171 Rough Diamond 

180 Ripples 

267 Room 44 

309 Santa Claus' Daughter 

48 Schnaps 

138 Sewing Circle of Period 

115 S. H. A. M. Pinafore 

55 Somebody's Nobody 

232 Stage Struck Yankee 

241 Struck by Lightning 

270 Slick and Skinner 

1 Slasher and Crasher 

137 Takine the Census 

252 That Awful Carpet Bag 

315 That Rascal Pat 

40 That Mysterious B'dle 



r5 



& 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



iimes' Plays— 



NO. 
101 

h . 

54 

292 
142 
276 

- V 7 

2S1 

■',} 

170 

1 ,1 

;■•; 

71) 
I. ■ 
1-17 

!.-,-, 

Ill 

1 ; 



M. 

The Bewitch 

nan 

Turn Him Out 

The .V 

The Irish Squire of Squash 

Ridge 1 

The Mashers Mashed 

The Sham Professor 4 

The Spellin' Skewl ] 

The Two T.J's 4 

Thirty-three Next Birthday.. 4 

Tim Flannigan 

Tit, for Tar 2 

The Printer mikI His Devils.. 3 
Trials of a Country Editor.... 6 
The. Wonderful Telephom 

\'int Emily- 

4 
>; 



Uncle I 

Unjust Justice 

[J.S. Mail 

nt Wool Dealer 5 

ed a Husband 2 

Wooing Under Difficult^ 

Which will he Marry 2 

Mais 4 

1 

Why they Joined the. Re- 



Yankee Duelist 3 

ee Peddler i 

ETHIOPIAN FARCES. 



204 

15 

172 

98 

-, . 

214 
145 
190 

230 

! .:; 
103 

47 



6 

A Coincidence 

An Unwelcome Return 3 

An Unhappy Pair 1 

Black Shoem 



Luck 2 

5 

nd 2 

Hamlet the Dainty 

flaunted House 2 

ur Paxey got her 
Child Bapti 

In For It... 

In the Wroni 

Joe's \ 

Mischievou 8 Nigger 4 




016 103 371 6 



NO. 

256 -Ji 

128 Musical DarJ 

90 N 

61 Not as Deaf as He S 

ibin 

lldPompey'. 



H)" Other People's Children.,. 
297 Pomp 1 

134 Pome's Pranl 2 

i nvention 5 

Quarrelsome Servants 

Rooms to Let 2 

107 School 

rig 

179 Sham Doctor 

94 16.000 Years Ago 3 

on a Lark 

Sportsman 2 

•Stage Struck Dark. 

Shortcake 

Ill Stocks Up, Stocks Down., 
til That Bov Sam 

122 ThoSelcci School 

IIS The Popcorn Man 

lie Studio 3 

245 ] 

4 Twain's Dodging 3 

197 Tricks 

UM Uncle Jetf 

21fi Vi.o Versa 3 

206 Villkens and Dinah 

210 Virginia Mummy 

kens 1 

205 Willi:, 

lofi Wig-Maker and 11 

GUIDE BOOKS. 

17 Hints on Elo 
130 Hints to Auki 

CANTATA. 

215 On to Victory 

TABLEAUX. 

250 Festival oi Days 

PANTOMIME. 

260 Cousin John's Album 



MAKE YOUR OWN WIGS ! 



PREPARED "WOOL Is an article that c hout any exp 

into 

WIGS, BEARDS, MUSTACHES, ETC., 

At very little cost, and wilt be sure to give satisfaction. ounce. 



Lode Box 152, 






WE AMES PUBLISm 



CLYDE, OHIO. 



jE 



